


Rose to the Occasion

by Robin Hood (kjack89)



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Fluff, M/M, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:07:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22213042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/Robin%20Hood
Summary: “What’re you thinking about?” Patrick asked.David set the candle he was holding back on the shelf. “Do you know what I got for my thirteenth birthday?” he asked.“Hmm,” Patrick said thoughtfully, “was that the year your dad gave you a basketball court, or the year Alexis was illegally squatting in the king of Norway’s summer palace?”David turned to face him, scowling. “Ok, firstly, the basketball court was for my bar mitzah and you know I’m sensitive about it.” Patrick tried his best to keep a straight face as David added, “And the other thing was when I was seventeen.”“Of course,” Patrick said mildly. “How could I forget?”
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 27
Kudos: 153





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ships_to_sail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ships_to_sail/gifts).



> The absolutely incredible ships_to_sail has been gently nudging me to write a Schitt's Creek fic for quite some time now, but I couldn't think of a story that I wanted to tell. But then this popped in my head, and, well, here we are.
> 
> Outline puts this at 3 chapters. Aiming to update once a week, but, y'know, life sometimes has other ideas.
> 
> Usual disclaimer, with the added hope that you'll be gentle with my first SC fic. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

Patrick flipped the sign on the door from ‘open’ to ‘closed’ before letting out a sigh and turning back around to head towards the till. Owning a business, as rewarding as it was, was also stressful on the best days, and even more so when wedding planning took up most of their free time.

Not that Patrick cared _too_ much where or how he and David got married. He would’ve married David right after he proposed to him, if he could’ve, but he knew David would want his family there, and Patrick wanted his parents there as well, especially after they thought they were getting a wedding from him before that didn’t work out.

He shook his head to clear it, brightening as he always did when he saw David and watching as the other man carefully examined a candle and held it up to sniff it, inhaling deeply, his eyes fluttering shut as he did.

God, Patrick could watch David for hours.

He made his way over to him, wrapping his arms around David’s waist from behind, turning to kiss David’s cheek before resting his chin on David’s shoulder. “What’re you thinking about?” he asked.

David set the candle he was holding back on the shelf. “Do you know what I got for my thirteenth birthday?” he asked.

“Hmm,” Patrick said thoughtfully, “was that the year your dad gave you a basketball court, or the year Alexis was illegally squatting in the king of Norway’s summer palace?”

David turned to face him, scowling. “Ok, firstly, the basketball court was for my bar mitzah and you know I’m sensitive about it.” Patrick tried his best to keep a straight face as David added, “And the other thing was when I was seventeen.”

“Of course,” Patrick said mildly. “How could I forget?”

“Sarcasm isn’t cute on you,” David told him, though he belied his words by drawing Patrick close and kissing him.

“Anyway,” Patrick said when they broke apart, “what did your father get you for thirteenth birthday?”

David let out a happy sigh. “A rose,” he said simply.

Patrick blinked. “What, that’s it?” he asked, almost skeptically.

David’s brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, what did you expect?”

Patrick shrugged and made a face. “I don’t know, but something a little more exciting than just a flower.”

Understanding dawned in David’s expression. “Oh, I see,” he said, with the patient sort of condescension that Patrick should not find as adorable as he did. “You think he just bought me a flower.” Patrick nodded and David pursed his lips. “No, he bought the naming rights to a variety of rose and named it after me.”

“Ah.” It took a lot for Patrick to refrain from rolling his eyes. “That does sound more like it.”

“Mmhmmm,” David said, somewhat dreamily. “ _Rosa davidus clarus_.”

Almost against his better judgment, Patrick couldn’t help but ask, “Clarus?”

David waved a dismissive hand. “I think he originally named it after Alexis and forgot to change the middle name when he regifted it to me.”

“Now that I believe,” Patrick said.

David turned back to the shelf, straightening the row of candles. “Anyway,” he said, “I was reminded of it because this candle smells just like a flowers from my rose.”

Patrick picked a candle up off the shelf and smelled it, not really seeing how it smelled any different from any other rose-scented thing, and choosing not to mention that. “I see,” he said noncommittally as he put the candle back down.

“Besides, I’ve got flowers on the brain,” David said with a sigh, drifting toward the till, rearranging products in the displays he passed as he did. “I’ve met with four florists for the wedding and I still don’t know what I want to go with.” He sniffed dramatically. “And since Olivier Giugni isn’t returning my calls, I’m going to have to figure something out on my own.”

Ordinarily, when David was in the middle of a screed like this, Patrick would just let him talk it out, but he felt bad with how little he’d been able to contribute to their wedding, whether on the planning side or the financial side. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked.

David paused and gave Patrick an uncharacteristically soft smile for being interrupted in the middle of one of his rants. “Yes. You can keep being you.”

Patrick grinned and reached out to pull David to him. “Well that I know I can do,” he murmured before kissing David. “But I meant anything else.”

David shrugged and pulled away. “Not really,” he said with a sigh. “I just know we need a whole bunch of flowers to make the tent work. Especially since we couldn’t afford the multilevel dance floor or the sixteen piece orchestra.” Patrick made a face, a pang of guilt blooming in his chest at yet another thing they had recently realized they couldn’t afford. “But I’m sure I’ll know what I’m looking for when I see it.”

“I’m sure you will,” Patrick said thoughtfully, looking over at the candle David had set down, an idea forming in the back of his head.

* * *

“I’m sorry, they cost _how_ much?”

Patrick had found exactly one florist in the relative nearby area that sold the roses named after his fiancée, and while he had assumed they would be on the pricey side, the actual amount that the florist was charging was, frankly, highway robbery.

And literally more than he used to pay for his room at Ray’s. Annualized.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the florist employee told him over the phone, and to her credit, she did sound genuinely apologetic. “They’re a very rare varietal and the amount you’re looking to purchase is quite extensive. I can offer you a much better price for a bouquet or a smaller arrangement—”

“No, it has to be that many flowers,” Patrick said with a sigh. “Thanks, though.”

He hung up the phone and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off both the headache he felt building in his temples and the disappointment he felt building in his gut. He had wanted to get this for David so badly, and sure, he knew he was no Johnny Rose, but—

His head snapped up, realization hitting. If anyone could help him, if anyone knew where he might be able to find these roses, surely it would be the man who bought the naming rights in the first place.

Which meant he needed to take a quick run over to the motel.

* * *

Stevie responded with an eye roll and a handwave when Patrick asked where Johnny was, which he took to mean that Johnny wasn’t at the front desk. When he knocked on their door, Moira, without opening the door, shouted, “Jonathan? Jonathan? Jonathan?”, the noise growing fainter as she assumedly moved away from the door. 

Johnny’s lack of answering meant he also was not there, and Patrick was about to give up and search in town when he caught sight of a white button-down shirt moving in the tree line behind the motel. Patrick raised both eyebrows in surprise but nonetheless picked way over, watching with bemusement as Johnny struggled to shift a large pile of broken branches. He cleared his throat, hoping not to startle him. “Mr. Rose,” he called.

Despite his best efforts, Johnny shot upright and looked around wildly before brightening. “Patrick! What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Patrick said, his eyebrows going even higher at the sight of Johnny standing knee-deep in a mess of weeds and brambles. “Better question is, what are you doing?”

“Oh, Roland said he was going to come help clear this out ahead of the wedding, but, well, he hasn’t shown up yet so.” Johnny shrugged helplessly. “I guess it’s just you and me.”

Patrick glanced down at his clothes and made a face, already seeing how this was going to go. “I assume you’re just moving all this—“

“Yes, exactly, just grab some, thanks,” Johnny said. “And what can I help you with?”

Patrick obediently picked up an armful of brush, following Johnny as he trudged further into the woods. “Do you remember the rose that you gave David for his thirteenth birthday?”

Johnny stopped in his tracks so quickly that Patrick almost ran into him. “I got David a flower for his birthday?” he asked blankly.

“Well, you named a variety of rose after him,” Patrick said, and when Johnny still looked baffled, he added helpfully, “He’s pretty sure you originally named it for Alexis and then changed it and regifted it to him.”

Realization dawned in Johnny’s expression. “Oh, right,” he said. “I forgot about that.”

“Anyway, I was hoping to get those roses for the wedding, but the florist that sells them nearby is charging…well, let’s just say it’s a lot more than we can afford. I don’t suppose you have any kind of in with the original cultivators or someone?”

He tried not to sound as hopeful as he felt, and he tried not to let his disappointment show when Johnny sighed and said, “Truth be told, Patrick, I don’t.”

Something of how crestfallen he felt must’ve shown, though, since Johnny hastened to add, “Look, I know you want to do something special for David, but I know my son, and he’s changed since he met you. In a good way.” 

Patrick couldn’t help but feel like them standing in the weeds behind a motel in Schitt’s Creek was really a bizarre metaphor for how they had all changed, but he chose not to mention it. 

“There was a time when I would have told you that you needed to do everything you could to get those flowers, or David would never forgive you,” Johnny continued, “but he’s not like that anymore.” He reached out to grab Patrick’s shoulder. “Your day will be perfect because it’s the two of you, not because of the flowers or the venue or whatever else.”

Patrick felt a little choked up, and it took him a moment to respond. “I know, but he’s already compromised so much on his vision for this. And I just thought, if there was one thing I could get for him…”

He trailed off and Johnny nodded slowly. “And I appreciate that,” he said. “If I had anything of value left, I’d hock it and give you the money, but…”

Patrick brightened slightly. “Maybe I should do that,” he said.

“Do what?” Johnny asked.

“Pawn something. Something worth a little bit of money. And use that for the flowers.”

Johnny shook his head. “Well, there’s no need to do something that drastic,” he said. “I was more thinking you could liquidize some assets, move some stocks around…” He trailed off at the look on Patrick’s face. “You don’t really have any of that, do you.”

He didn’t state it like a question and Patrick winced. “I, uh, I have my guitar,” he offered weakly.

“Well, there you go!” Johnny said bracingly. “That’ll probably get you a couple grand, right?”

Patrick felt his stomach sink, remembering that his guitar wasn’t exactly a name brand. ”O mean I didn’t exactly pay that much for it, so I doubt it.” He took a deep breath to gather his resolution. “But it might be a start.”

“Patrick, I really don’t think—” Johnny broke off, catching sight of something over Patrick’s shoulder, and Patrick turned to see Roland standing at the edge of the wood, watching them. “Ah, Roland!” Johnny said, with an exasperated sort of enthusiasm. “Didn’t you say you were going to help me?”

Roland rubbed his chin. “Well, you know, I did, Johnny, but then I saw you and your future son-in-law and thought I should leave you alone for some bonding.”

Patrick knew David well enough to pick up some of his ticks in the man’s father, and he recognized the look teetering on the edge of losing that that crossed Johnny’s face. “As considerate as that may be, if memory serves, we are paying you to help keep the grounds clear.”

Roland nodded sagely. “Yes, and no amount of money could make up for this kind of bonding, I get it.”

“That’s not—” Johnny broke off and took a deep breath before turning pointedly to Patrick. “Anyway, Patrick, I’m sure you’ll figure the flowers out.”

“Oh are you worried about the flowers?” Roland asked, bounding through the underbrush to join them.

Johnny threw his hands up in the air. “This you decide to come over for.”

Roland ignored him. “You know, Patrick, flowers were my big concern for my wedding to Jocelyn as well. I was worried they’d clash with my hair, see?”

He gestured at the hair emerging from his baseball cap and Patrick glanced between Johnny and Roland, hoping desperately for an out. “Uh—”

Johnny saved him from responding. “I’m sure you were, but right now, I’m worried that the brush will clash with the wedding, so if you want to lend a hand—”

"Oh, sure, Johnny, sure, I’ll give you and the boy a few minutes alone.”

Roland clapped Johnny on the shoulder before retreating toward the motel and Johnny stared after him. “That’s not—” He broke off again, shaking his head and turning back to Patrick. “Anyway, as I was saying—”

“Mr Rose, I know what you’re going to say,” Patrick interrupted. “But I want to do this. For David.”

Johnny searched his expression for a moment before shrugging. “Well, if you’re sure.”

“I am,” Patrick said, with far more certain he felt. “Thank you, Mr. Rose, for everything.”

“Of course.” Johnny surveyed the brush he still needed to move and sighed. “And if you see Roland, please tell him that you and I are done with our minutes alone.”

Patrick hid a laugh. “I will, Mr. Rose, I promise.”

He turned to leave, pausing when Johnny added, “Oh and Patrick?”

“Yeah?” Patrick asked.

“You can call me Johnny.”

Patrick ducked his head, feeling unexpectedly emotional. “Thanks,” he managed finally, jerking a nod at Johnny before making his way back towards the motel and his car.

His warmth from his conversation with Johnny faded as he went, replaced by a steely sort of resolve. He knew that David didn’t expect anything from him, and that was exactly why Patrick wanted to do this in the first place: because David might not expect it, but he sure did deserve it.

Sure, he might have to pawn his guitar and who knew what else, but at the end of the day, Patrick was determined that he was going to get David those roses.

No matter what it took.


	2. Chapter 2

“Where are you going?” Patrick asked with mild curiosity as Stevie drove them towards the edge of town.

Stevie didn’t look over at him. “The pawn shop,” she said, as if it was obvious.

“Right, but when you offered to drive me to the pawn shop in town, I was under the impression that this was going to be someplace, you know, in town.”

Unless Patrick was mistaken, Stevie’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, for just a moment. “Here’s the thing,” she started, and Patrick groaned, tipping his head back against the headrest and closing his eyes, already sensing where this was going. “Schitt’s Creek doesn’t actually have a pawn shop.”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Patrick sighed.

“And since the closest one is in Elmdale, and the entire reason why you’re having me drive in the first place is so that you can do this over the early lunch you took so that David doesn’t get suspicious, I figured you wouldn’t mind a bit of an...unconventional arrangement.”

Patrick cracked one eye open. “Please tell me it’s not something illegal.”

Stevie gave him a look. “Yes,” she said dryly, “I’m driving you to commit illegal activities with me. I’m so shocked that you found out my secret plan.”

Patrick sighed again. “Fine, if we’re not going to pawn shop, where are we going?”

“Oh, we’re still going to a pawn shop,” Stevie assured him. “It’s just not in an actual shop.”

Patrick stared at her. “Then where is it?”

“You’ll see,” Stevie said.

“Somehow, that doesn’t reassure me.”

* * *

Apparently, the somewhere that was not a shop was instead the parking lot of The Wobbly Elm bar, and Patrick tossed Stevie a concerned look as she parked. “Here?” he asked doubtfully.

Stevie shook her head. “No,” she said, pointing across the parking lot. “There.”

Patrick followed her pointing, paling when he saw the van she was pointing at. “There?” he repeated, his voice about a half-octave higher than usual. “The only thing I would be getting there is kidnapped.”

Stevie rolled her eyes. “Clearly David’s dramatics are rubbing off on you,” she said. “Ray runs a mini pawn shop out of the van three or four times a month for those of us who don’t want to go all the way to Elmdale. See?”

Patrick watched Ronnie glance around the parking lot as if checking to see if someone was watching her before carrying a load of what looked like dirty laundry over to the van. He turned back to Stevie. “That’s supposed to convince me this is a good idea?”

“Just go,” Stevie sighed, and despite every instinct telling him this was a bad idea, Patrick got out of the car, grabbing his guitar case from the backseat and hesitantly making his way over to the nondescript van, hesitating again before knocking on the back door. 

The door swung open, revealing Ray sitting in the back. “Patrick!” he exclaimed when he saw him. “Come in, come in.”

Despite every horror movie he had ever seen that told him this was a terrible idea, Patrick took a deep breath and clambered into the back of the van, flinching when Ray closed the door after him. The inside of the van was cluttered with exactly everything Patrick would expect to see at a pawn shop, and he stared around with wide eyes. “Wow,” he managed, and Ray beamed.

“It’s a small operation, but it gets the job done,” Ray said comfortably. “Now, how can I help you?”

Patrick took a deep breath before grabbing his guitar case and laying it across his knees. “I wanted to pawn my guitar.”

Ray looked surprised for a moment before nodding. “Of course,” he said. “May I see the instrument?”

Patrick opened the guitar case carefully, trying not to knock anything over in the cramped quarters of the van. He handed it to Ray, who examined it closely. “It was my dad’s originally, so while I know it’s not necessarily the greatest, it’s vintage…”

He trailed off and Ray gave him a reassuring smile. “It looks like it’s in great condition,” he offered. “I’m sure I can offer you a good price.   


Patrick let out a sigh of relief and gave Ray a small smile. “That’s great,” he said honestly. “I’m hoping to use the money for flowers for the wedding.”

Ray’s head snapped up, and he suddenly looked very uncomfortable. “Oh,” he said. “I didn’t realize that’s what you wanted the money for.”

“Well, I just figured this could be something that I could do…” Patrick trailed off, seeing the look on Ray’s face. “Is there a problem with that?”

“No, of course not!” Ray said instantly. “I just know how expensive weddings are, and I don’t think this will cover much.”

Patrick frowned. “Maybe not that much, but hopefully it’ll be at least a down payment, or—”

“Five dollars,” Ray interrupted, and Patrick gaped at him. 

“What?”

“I can give you five dollars for it,” Ray said firmly, handing the guitar back to him. “It’s used, and it’s not in great condition.”

Patrick looked from the guitar back to Ray, completely flabbergasted. “But you literally just said it was in great condition—”

“I’m sorry, I can give you five dollars, no more,” Ray told him.

Patrick felt like his stomach had plummeted to somewhere around his knees. “I need more than that,” he said numbly.

There was something sympathetic in Ray’s expression, even though his tone was still firm when he told him, “I wish I could offer more.”

Shaking his head slowly, Patrick closed the guitar case. “I guess I’ll take to the pawn shop in Elmdale, see what they’ll give me,” he said.

“Elmdale?” Ray asked, suddenly perking up. “Why go all the way to Elmdale? I’m sure you can find someone in town who will take it off your hands, especially if you tell them why you’re trying to sell it.”

“You didn’t take it off my hands after I told you why I was trying to sell it,” Patrick pointed out.

Ray just smiled blithely at him. “Yes, but I drive a harder bargain. I’m certain you’ll figure something out. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?”

Patrick hesitated. “You really can only give me five dollars?” he asked, a touch desperate.

“I’m afraid so,” Ray told him. “But best of luck!”

There was nothing left for Patrick to do but hop out of the van, still holding the guitar. He trudged back across the parking lot, and Stevie frowned when she saw him. “Did you change your mind?” she asked as he got back in the car.

“No, Ray wouldn’t buy it,” Patrick told her grimly. “Or at least, he only offered me five dollars for it.”

Stevie examined him closely. “So are we going to Elmdale?” she asked.

Patrick shook his head slowly, determination again steeling his resolve. “No,” he said, “Ray gave me a different idea. He suggested trying to sell it in town.”

Stevie blinked. “Won’t that sort of ruin the whole little surprise you’re planning for David?” she asked skeptically. “Since he’s definitely going to notice you carting that thing around town.”

She jerked her head toward the guitar case in the back seat and Patrick shook his head again. “I won’t bring it with me,” he told her. “I doubt anyone in town will want to examine it or anything like that, and if they do, we can arrange for them to come out to the motel and look at it more closely.”

“The motel?” Stevie asked, before realization hit, and her eyes widened. “Oh, no, Patrick, I’ve already done enough, I don’t wanna get in the middle—”

“Please, Stevie?” Patrick asked, giving her his most pleading eyes, the ones that seemed to work on David almost without fail. 

And luckily, they seemed to have a similar effect on Stevie, who sighed and relented. “Fine, I’ll hold onto it, but only for this afternoon, so if you’re going to find someone to buy it, you better do it quickly.”

Patrick nodded slowly. “In that case,” he said, “better drop me at the Café Tropical.”

* * *

“Oh, hey, Patrick,” Twyla said brightly when Patrick walked in. “Just you today, or is David joining you?”

“Um, neither, actually,” Patrick said, looking over her shoulder and scanning the room until he found who he was looking for. “I’m just here to talk to the Ladies Who Lunch.”

Twyla looked confused for a moment before seeming to understand. “Oh, the Jazzagals,” she said, nodding, and turned to lead him over. “Though I think we’re a few members short today, but it is a holiday.”

Patrick frowned. “It is?” he asked, but Twyla ignored him.

“Hi ladies,” she said instead, with a wide smile. “Mr. Brewer would like a word.”

Jocelyn smiled up at him. “Oh, Patrick, join us,” she said, “though I should warn you upfront that as much as we need to reinforce our baritone section, I’m afraid we don’t allow men to sing with us.”

Patrick laughed lightly. “Oh, darn,” he said with mock-disappointment. “There goes that idea.”

For some reason, the comment seemed to send some of the ladies into gales of laughter, and Jocelyn waited with seemingly fraying patience for them to pull themselves together before asking, “What can the Jazzagals do for you?”

“Actually, it’s something I was thinking I could do for you,” Patrick said. “I’m trying to sell my guitar, and I thought it might be something you lovely ladies could use for rehearsals.”

Almost as one, the smiles the ladies wore all seemed to fade, and there was some uncomfortable shifting. Jocelyn leaned forward. “Oh, yes, Roland told me about how you were having some financial difficulties,” she said in a whisper that Patrick was fairly certain could be heard by everyone in the café. “And while we would love to help, we are an a capella group, so we don’t really need an instrument.”

The ladies all nodded, all giving him sympathetic looks, and Patrick flushed. “We’re not having financial difficulties,” he assured them. “The store is actually doing really well, but this is an expense that’s outside of our wedding budget, so—”

“I get it,” Jocelyn said, still sounding overly-sympathetic. “There’s a lot of fancy things I’m sure we’d all love to buy, right gals?”

Again, the ladies all nodded, and Patrick gritted his teeth before saying in what he hoped was a polite way, “Well, that’s why I’m trying to sell my guitar. And even if you don’t want it for the Jazzagals, maybe you could buy it for Mutt, or little Roland.”

He gestured at the baby, fast asleep in his car seat, Jocelyn laughed and all the assembled ladies tittered along with her. “Don’t be silly,” Jocelyn told him. “He’s a baby, he can’t play guitar.”

“That’s not—”

“You could take it to Bob,” Gwen interrupted. “He could try and sell it at the garage.” She nudged Lena with her elbow before adding with a wink, “That man could sell anything.”

“That’s a good idea!” Grace said, and the other ladies all nodded.

Patrick couldn’t help but feel like this was a task destined to fail, but he nonetheless mustered an approximation of a smile. “Thanks, I’ll try that,” he said, before giving them a little wave. “Enjoy your lunch.”

He headed toward the door and Twyla intercepted him. “Sorry that didn’t work out,” she said. “But I could always buy your guitar!”

“Really?” Patrick asked tiredly. “How much would you give me for it?”

Twyla considered it for a moment. “Like five bucks?” she offered.

Patrick sighed. “That’s what I thought you’d say,” he grumbled before forcing a smile once again. “Thanks for the offer, but I need a little more than that.”

“Oh,” Twyla said, sounding disappointed. “Well, good luck!”

“Thanks,” Patrick said with another sigh.

At this rate, he was going to need more than luck.

* * *

Stevie looked up when the motel door opened, and Patrick noted, rather sourly, that she didn’t look all that surprised to see him. “So no luck with the Jazzagals, I’ll take it?”

“Nope,” Patrick said with a sigh, resting his elbows on top of the front desk and sighing heavily. “Nor with Twyla, nor Bob, who didn’t seem to understand that you can sell more than one thing at any given time, and since it’s not like I could just walk down the street asking anyone else if they wanted to buy it…”

He trailed off and Stevie looked like she was very much trying not to smirk. “What are you gonna do now?” she asked. “Besides give up on buying David his unnecessary flowers?”

Patrick ignored that comment. “Well, I’ve got one person left to ask, and I’m just hoping she in the right mood to be willing to do something to help her brother.”

Stevie’s eyes narrowed in consideration. “Is Alexis ever in the mood to help her brother?”

“To my knowledge, no.”

“Well, in that case, good—”

“Don’t say luck,” Patrick interrupted with a sigh. “I need more than luck. I need a miracle.”

Again, Stevie looked like she was trying very hard not to laugh. “Then I’ll pray for you,” she assured Patrick.

“No, you won’t,” Patrick muttered as he left and headed to Alexis’s room. 

Miraculously enough, Alexis seemed in a surprisingly good mood as she let him in. “I was just talking to Ted,” she told him, which probably explained the good mood, as she sat down on her bed and gestured for Patrick to sit down across from her. “I wish you had come by earlier, you could’ve said hi!”

“Well, be sure to tell him I say hi the next time you talk to him,” Patrick said, a little uncomfortably. “But in the meantime, I actually wanted to talk to you about something. Namely, my guitar — I’m trying to sell it, but I’m not having a lot of luck.”

Alexis sat up a little straighter. “Patrick, I’m a little offended you didn’t think to ask me first,” she scolded. “You know that I one time had to sell a platinum tennis bracelet to buy my way out of prison in Burundi, and it wasn’t even real platinum, it was white gold, so.”

“Uh,” Patrick started, “I actually didn’t know that, but, uh, good to know, I guess.” He rubbed the palms of his hands against his jeans, feeling suddenly nervous. “But, um, I actually wasn’t here to enlist your help in selling it. I was hoping you might help me in buying it.”

For a moment, Alexis just looked confused, and Patrick winced, worried he was going to have to explain it further. But then Alexis scrunched her nose and made the little humming noise she made when she was about to disagree with something. “Mmm...Patrick, do you know where I’m going?”

She gestured with both hands in front of her and Patrick stared at her blankly, because frankly, he had no idea. “Like in life, or in general, or...?”

Alexis rolled her eyes. “Like literally,” she said impatiently. “Like once you and David are married.”

“To the Galápagos Islands,” Patrick said, realizing where she was going with this.

Alexis nodded sagely. “Right. And, like, I don’t really know if I’m going to need a guitar while I’m enjoying the Galápagos tortellini, so.”

She tossed her hair in a definite sort of way, and Patrick blinked. “You mean the Galápagos tortoise?”

Alexis looked horrified. “Ew, Patrick!” she practically shrieked. “They eat turtles there?! Ted didn’t say anything about that.“

“I just meant—“

Alexis stood, grabbing her phone. I’m sorry but I really need to call him. I can’t eat turtle.”

“But what about the guitar—“

But she was already gone, the door slamming after her, and Patrick let out a groan before flopping back on the bed, only to sit up an instant later when he heard Moira ask from the doorway, “Is everything alright? I heard quite the clatter.”

He gave her a quick smile. “Sorry about that, Mrs. Rose, I was just—”

Moira gasped as if only just realizing that it was Patrick sitting on the bed and not Alexis. “Why Patrick, I didn’t realize you were visiting. How nice.” Patrick blinked, but before he could say anything, Moira asked, sounding concerned, “But something must be wrong for you to be here with David. Patrick, whatever is the matter?”

“It’s nothing, Mrs. Rose,” Patrick assured her, standing up from the bed. “I was actually trying to sell my guitar, and—”

“Oh, I understand,” Moira said, nodding slowly.

Patrick eyed her warily. “You do?”

Moira laughed in that extraordinary way where not a single muscle in her face moved, and Patrick tried not to laugh for very different reasons. “Of course!” she told him. “You were worried that David would find out that you were a musician, and he wouldn’t love you anymore.”

“Wait, what?” Patrick said blankly, gaping at her. “That’s not– No, he already knows I play guitar, I—”

Moira ignored his stuttered attempt to correct her. “Patrick, I went through the same thing,” she told him, gesturing dramatically. “Worried someone would never love me because I was an actress. I live my life for the stage, and being in love with an artist like you or I can be so difficult for a common man.”

“Now that I do believe,” Patrick muttered.

“But you must believe that David loves you,” Moira continued as if Patrick hadn’t spoken, which in fairness, was likely because she had no idea that he had. “And he loves all of you, every part of you — the artist, the businessman, the…” She trailed off, clearly at a loss for anything else she could think of to describe Patrick, and hastened to add, “No matter that you play the violin.”

“The guitar, actually—”

Moira just nodded. “Exactly. So just remember that, Patrick, and you’ll be fine.” She turned and told him over her shoulder, “Now if you’ll excuse me, Janice is in need of a blowout.”

“Thanks, Mrs. Rose,” Patrick called after her, and she just waved her hand dismissively.

He shook his head slowly, wondering if there was a kernel of truth in what Moira had told him. David loved him, after all, all of him, including, assumedly, the part that would never be able to afford to buy him those roses. 

But that didn’t change the fact that he still wanted to.

With a sigh, he made his way back to the motel office, where Stevie still didn’t look remotely surprised to see him. “I imagine you struck out with Alexis?”

“Sure did,” Patrick told her.

Stevie hesitated for a moment before sighing and telling him, “Look, if you’re serious about selling your guitar, I can help you list it online to sell.”

Patrick blinked. “Are  _ you _ serious?” he asked. “You’ve been against this from the start.”

“I am serious,” Stevie said reluctantly, “because David is my friend and I know you’re just trying to make him happy.”

Patrick let out a breath that it felt like he’d been holding all day, a genuine smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “That would be amazing, Stevie, seriously, thank you—”

Stevie made a face. “Ok, that’s enough of that,” she said. “I’ll take some pictures of the guitar and then—” Patrick’s phone buzzed and he dug it out of his pocket, paling when he read the message. “Problem?”

“Text from David,” Patrick told her shortly.

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah,” Patrick said, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “Especially since it says, ‘We need to talk’.”

Stevie winced sympathetically. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Patrick told her, running a tired hand across his face before squaring his shoulders. “I better go see what’s up with him, but first, I’m going to Elmdale.”

Stevie’s eyes widened. “To pawn the guitar?” she asked. “Patrick—”

Patrick shook his head. “No, not for that,” he assured her before adding, just a little wryly, “I have a feeling I’m going to need to pick up an apology gift.”

“Oh.” Stevie looked torn between amusement and sympathy, and truthfully, Patrick didn’t blame her for that. “Well, you told me not to say it, so—”

“I know, I know,” Patrick grumbled, already heading toward the door. “Good luck.”


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Patrick got back from Elmdale, it was to a text message from David that simply said, _Meet me at the apartment._

Which in and of itself was bad news, since David typically just referred to it as ‘home’.

So it was with no small amount of trepidation that Patrick opened the door, not even remotely surprised to see David perched on the edge of the bed, clearly waiting for him. “Hi,” Patrick said, wincing slightly at how stupid it sounded.

David’s expression was mostly neutral as he waited for Patrick to come inside. “Do you know who came in the shop earlier?” he asked as Patrick toed his shoes off at the door. 

“No,” Patrick said honestly.

“Ronnie.” Patrick winced again, already knowing how this was going to go. “And she told me a _fascinating_ story about seeing you with your guitar at the pawn shop. I didn’t even know this town had a pawn shop.”

Patrick cleared his throat. “Technically, it doesn’t, but—”

David ignored him. “Were you really not going to tell me that you were so worried about money that you were pawning your guitar?” he demanded, his eyebrows sinking behind his glasses frames as he scowled, and Patrick’s eyes widened as he realized David had gotten the complete wrong end of this whole thing.

“Wait, that’s not—”

“We’re partners, Patrick, business partners and life partners, and I know I can be a bit—” David waved a frustrated hand, gesturing vaguely toward himself. “—well, you know, but that doesn’t mean you get to keep things like this from me!”

Patrick held his hands up defensively. “Can I say something?” he asked carefully.

David’s scowl deepened. “By all means.”

“I’m not worried about money,” Patrick told him. “At least no more so than usual.”

“Then why—”

Patrick carefully pulled the flower he had tucked in his back pocket out, relieved to see that he hadn’t crushed the petals too much while waiting for David to let him get a word in edgewise. “I was hoping to get you these.”

At first, David looked confused, but as he smelled the rose, his face lit up. “Is this—?”

“ _Rosa davidus clarus_?” Patrick finished with a small smile. “Yeah, it is.”

David shook his head, his smile soft. “C’mere,” he said, pulling Patrick down to him and kissing him. Then, pulling back just far enough for their noses to brush, he added, in what he clearly thought was a stern way, “Just don’t think that this lets you off the hook.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Patrick assured him, not quite able to stop the smile that lifted the corners of his mouth. “Though, uh, I’d love to know what hook I’m on.”

David’s eyes narrowed. “You might remember that whole trying to pawn your guitar thing? Without telling me?”

“Because I wanted it to be a surprise,” Patrick said with a sigh, sitting down next to him and twining their hands together, brushing his thumb over the rings on David’s fingers. “When I saw the look on your face when you smelled the candle and when you told the story about the rose, I just—” He shrugged. “I wanted to get them for you. And it turns out that all I could realistically afford was pretty much just that single rose.”

David pursed his lips slightly. “And so you thought you’d sell the guitar that I love so much to try to get me the roses?”

Patrick raised both eyebrows in amusement. “You don’t love the guitar,” he said with a light laugh.

For a moment, it looked like David might try to deny it, but then he shrugged one shoulder and allowed, “Ok, no, but you love that guitar, and I love you, so.”

Patrick laughed again, shaking his head. “That sounds more like it,” he said, twisting his wrist to raise David’s hand to his mouth so he could press a gentle kiss against his knuckles. “And I love you, too. Which was I wanted to get you the roses. I know how much you’ve had to compromise on your vision for this wedding because of our budget, just like how you’re probably going to have to compromise your vision for what our life together is going to look like.” He could feel his face burn as he admitted it, the thing he’d feared saying out loud most since he realized he wanted to spend his life with David. “We’re never going to have the kind of money you probably thought you were going to, and I know you know that, and I know you’re ok with that, but I still want you to have everything you want in this world.”

“Patrick—” David started, his voice soft, but Patrick shook his head and squeezed his hand.

“I know I can’t give you everything you’ve envisioned, but I wanted to try to give you this. So I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you about it, but I hope you understand.”

David ducked his head and Patrick swallowed, hard, trying to tamp down the panic he could feel flaring in his chest. Then David gently pulled his hand away from Patrick’s to instead reach up with both hands to cradle Patrick’s face, pulling him in and kissing him once more. “Thank you,” he said softly. “For wanting all that for me.” 

“I know that—” Patrick started, but David cut him off.

“But I don’t want all that for me.” Patrick stared at him and David took both of Patrick’s hands in his. “I know that I used to live a very different life, but it wasn’t because I had money.” Patrick let out a quiet noise of disagreement and David rolled his eyes. “Fine, it wasn’t just because of the money,” he said impatiently, smiling slightly when Patrick laughed. “But mostly my life was different because I didn’t have you. And I don’t want to go back to that.”

Patrick wanted to respond but his throat felt suddenly too tight, and he couldn’t do anything but kiss David again. When they broke apart this time, David added, “Besides, as far as my vision for the wedding goes, the only thing that I see is you. Everything else is just background.”

Again, Patrick couldn’t seem to respond, at least not right away. When he finally recovered the power of speech, he gave a short laugh and said, a little sheepishly, “Well, now I feel like an idiot.”

“I mean, I’d tell you not to, but…” Patrick rolled his eyes and David laughed. “Fine, then if it’ll make you feel better, I got you a little something, too.” Patrick’s brow furrowed as David reached under the bed, understanding dawning when he emerged with the guitar case. “Stevie brought it by while you were in Elmdale. Seemed to think you might want this back.”

Patrick shook his head slowly. “Yeah,” he said, his voice hoarse. “She was right about that.”

He made as if to stand and put the guitar away but David stopped him. “And in case you somehow got it in your head to try and sell it again, I made a little modification.”

Patrick’s brow furrowed and he opened the guitar case, seeing instantly that David had written something in Sharpie just below the pickguard. “Give me a lifetime of promises and a world of dreams,” he read out loud, choking up just a little and tracing his finger over the letter ‘D’ David had scrawled underneath it. “I will,” he told David, leaning in and kissing him. “I promise.”

“Good,” David said, sounding satisfied bordering on smug, and he watched as Patrick carefully returned the guitar to its spot. “Now, is there anything else about our upcoming nuptials that you want to fill me in on?”

“Well, I was thinking about taking your last name,” Patrick said casually, smiling when David seemed to choke on air.

“Seriously?” David managed.

Patrick shrugged. “Yeah,” he said. “Patrick Rose. I like the sound of it.”

David made a skeptical noise, his brows furrowed. “Mmm, well, we’ll revisit that later,” he said, picking his cellphone up and standing. “For right now, we have to go.”

“Go?” Patrick repeated, confused. “Go where?”

“To the motel,” David said, accompanied by a dramatic sigh that could only mean something had happened with his family. “Alexis texted. Apparently there’s some kind of crisis and as per always, I’m the only one who can solve it.”

Patrick knew David well enough to tell he was preening more than anything at being the only one who could solve his family’s latest drama, and he managed to mostly hold in his smile as he took David’s hand. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Patrick pulled the car into the parking lot at the motel, and glanced at David, who was scowling again. “The way Alexis made it sound, the building was on fire,” he griped, adjusting his sunglasses. “Clearly nothing that bad has happened or we’d have a welcome party.”

Laughing lightly, Patrick patted David’s knee. “Who knows, maybe something happened to one of your mom’s wigs,” he said bracingly, and David blanched.

“Don’t even joke,” he said warningly, unbuckling his seat belt. “We had a full on funeral for Ingrid after an incident with a curling iron.” Patrick snorted a laugh and David glanced over at him, his expression impossible to read behind his sunglasses. “Are you still sure you want to take on my family’s name?”

“Now more than ever,” Patrick assured him, leaning in and kissing his cheek. “Now, we should probably—”

He was cut off by Alexis, who appeared around the side of the building and paused when she saw them sitting in the car. She waved her hand dramatically and stamped her foot before calling, “Oh my God, David, we’re waiting on you!”

Even though Patrick couldn’t see David’s eyes because of his sunglasses, he knew without a doubt that David rolled his eyes by both his sigh and the way he moved his head. “We’re coming!” David shouted back.

Together, they got out of the car and headed towards Alexis, who didn’t even wait for them to reach her before flouncing around the side of the building. 

As they got closer, Patrick could hear the sound of a bunch of people, far more than just David’s family, and he exchanged a startled look with David, who just shrugged before leading the way around the building and stopping in his tracks.

Patrick stopped next to him, gaping at the scene in front of them.

The entire back lawn of the motel was filled with flowers, and more seemed to be pouring in as they stood and watched. Jocelyn and Roland were directing traffic as what appeared to be the entire population of Schitt’s Creek brought in bunches, bouquets, and bushes of flowers.

There were roses, clearly clipped from several bushes based on the different colors and sizes, and peonies and Marigolds and sunflowers and tulips — even some flowers that Patrick recognized from the Moira’s Rose’s Garden 4856.

“What—” he started, amazed, breaking off as Johnny joined them.

“Seems like Roland made a few calls after he heard about your financial difficulties with the flowers, and the whole town apparently wanted to help.”

David reached up to take his sunglasses off, and Patrick glanced over at him, seeing the look on his face and knowing they were feeling exactly the same thing. He reached out and grabbed David’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “That’s really nice of everyone,” he told Johnny, who gave him a small, knowing smile.

“I know it doesn’t quite compare to the roses you were hoping to get—”

“No,” Patrick said. “This is better.”

David jerked a nod of agreement, and Patrick let go of his hand to instead wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him close as they both watched their friends and neighbors bringing in even more flowers.

“What do you think?” Patrick asked David, his voice low. “Does this fit your vision?”

David smiled slightly. “I think I can make this work,” he said, turning his head to kiss Patrick lightly before asking, “But they know the wedding’s not for a few weeks, so all these flowers are going to die, right?”

“Shh,” Patrick said. “Don’t ruin this for them. Besides, it’s the thought that counts.”

“Just like with the rose you gave me,” David said lightly, and Patrick half-smiled.

“Yeah,” he said, his smile widening as David rested his head against his shoulder. “Just like that.”


End file.
